


Honestly Draco Needs A Hug and Harry Needs To Get His Shit Together

by aplanetarymind



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asian Pansy Parkinson, Bi Harry, Black Hermione Granger, Desi Harry Potter, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, HOH character, Hogwarts Eighth Year, How Do I Tag, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Swearing, Trans Character, adhd harry, demi hermione, few original characters - Freeform, fucboi zabini probably, hard of hearing character, i mean enemies? but thats not a tag apparently, i mean there will probably be straight characters maybe, i messed around with barely-mentioned canon characters ok, like an actual one i know what you're thinking, mention of depression, mentions of abuse, no beta we die like (men), oh yeah harry has a snake now, part of the fuck jk rowling society, pls be safe kids, poss. mention of previous self harm, poss. panic attacks, slytherins are nice people ok, snapes a bitch expect no sympathy, soft boi draco, some kinda original characters, we love him tho, we stan mcgonagall, yes ron is my token straight character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aplanetarymind/pseuds/aplanetarymind
Summary: Hi this is an eighth year drarry fic with lots of gay bc hi we need representation and sometimes you gotta make your own. I promise the story is better than this but i can't do summaries sorry. Also just kinda writing this as i go along so... Basic premise is for some inter-house community McGonagall made a house swap where two people from each house swap with another. Unsurprisingly one was Harry (shock, i know). Fresh starts and new friends? Obliviousness and (low-key) pining also lots of side ships because sometimes you need a POV with some perception skills and i ship too many people for one fic oh well
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, Lavender Brown/Parvati Patil, Neville Longbottom/Blaise Zabini, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Comments: 14
Kudos: 97





	1. 1. The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Hi  
> This is the author (that's weird to *say*) here just to warn all you lovely people about some things about this here story.
> 
> [This is obviously fanfiction so the majority of the characters, locations, ect. belong to J.K. Rowling. There is no copyright infringement intended.]
> 
> Speaking of characters, there will also be some original characters throughout the book as well as some half original ones, namely Newt Scammander's descendant, Rolf (who I have taken the liberty of messing around with his personality, name and basically everything but the family tree and existence which is down to J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Warnings:  
> The book will mention Draco's depression, possibly mentions of previous self harm ect., and Harry mentions previous abuse. (Just in case you didn't read the tags). In chapters where these topics are dealt with I will add a warning to the beginning of the chapter. (Keep yourselves safe guys).  
> I will also probably include plenty of puns and innuendos so if they offend you I'm sorry. A probably unneeded reminder that this story is centered around a gayrelationship and plenty of other queer relationships and characters will be mentioned throughout the book so if you don't like that please remove yourself and your negativity from my work.
> 
> There will be inconsistent updates/it will be slow going pacing-wise i think so you have been warned...
> 
> I hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> (Also sorry this first chapter is really short)

The early sunlight glittered on Harry's glasses. The cracked scarlet seal in the creamy envelope smelt waxy. He could feel his teeth through his lip as he chewed in it absently.   
  
Harry had learnt that it was good to focus on the small things first, to absorb it bit by bit before zooming out to the bigger picture. Especially in a difficult situation, it made things easier to cope. (Unfortunately he learnt this after he finished his somewhat turbulent school years.)

Back to the letter. Harry brushed the crumbs of chocolate off the table (chocolate - a habit picked up from Remus. Why was it was just so good) and picked up the letter from Hogwarts. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he scanned it quickly, recognising McGonagall's spiky script.

  
_Dear Mr Potter,_

_I have decided to invite all of those students whose seventh year was disrupted by the war to come back as special Eighth Years. I believe that, as well as the importance of finishing their education, an extra year will help everyone to adjust and deal with their memories and experiences. I think that the best way to honour those who left is is to create a new era of how and peace. I also have devised plans for improved House Unity._

_If you do wish to return, please write to me stating thus. Enclosed are the letters as to what you shall require. I hope to see you in September._

_Yours sincerely,_   
_Minerva McGonagall_

_**Headmistress of Hogwarts** _

Harry ruffled his hand through his messy bedhead distractedly. Summoning some parchment and ink, he dipped a quill into the deep blue ink. The quill hovered in midair until a fat blob of ink land on the parchment like a squid. The Squid. Hmm. Hermione would nag him to death if he didn't accept; he would probably regret it if he didn't anyway. He looked around his appartment: strewn with dirty clothes, takeaway menus and half-written replies to his friends' letters. He needed the structure, the routine, something. Sod it.

_Dear Headmistress McGonagall,_

_Thanks for your letter, I would like to return to Hogwarts as an Eighth Year._

_Yours,_

_Harry Potter_

Sealing the letter, Harry summoned his new owl, a tawny brown ball of awkward fluff (much like himself) named Tsula, and sent it before he could change his mind.


	2. 2. Back On The Hogwarts Express

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've pre-written these first few chapters so expect things to slow down considerably after about Chapter 5 :)

September felt crisp and colourful. Harry felt a warm glow inside: this time of year had always lit a spark of excitement in him, and he was going back to Hogwarts. The thought made him buzz but an icy feeling quickly dampened his happiness. He hadn't returned to the castle after the Battle, not even looking back as he fled from the heavy cloud of pain and grief in its aftermath. He never thought he would go back.

Checking he hasn't forgotten anything (broom - tick, books, quills and parchment - tick, clothes - tick) he pushed his new-ish glasses (although they were basically the exact same as his old one) further his nose and shoved the trolley (which had an annoying sticky wheel at the front) through the wall. Out onto Platform 9 3/4, bustling with the gleaming red train and students loading luggage and saying farewell. The sudden pricking in Harry's eyes was most definitely at the cloud of steam from the engine rather than at the familiar hustle and bustle of the place. Sorting out his own, rather haphazardly packed, luggage and boarding the train - attempting to avoid the hushed whispers and subtle pointed fingers as he passed - Harry started to walk through the carriages, looking for one compartment in particular... 

There! He'd know those voices anywhere. Opening the compartment door, he was bombarded by Hermione's bone-crushing hug.

'Hi, 'Mione,' he smiled as she let go and stepped back. 'Alright Ron?' The other boy grinned at him, then pulled him into a one-armed hug. Merlin, since when did Ron grow _again_?

'It's good to see you mate,' was uttered before he, too, pulled back, allowing Harry to take a proper look at them both. Ron was lankier than ever - if that was somehow possible - but was just as ginger and whatever sun he'd had over the summer had drawn out his freckles. Hermione probably had grown a bit too, just about the same height as himself now, Harry thought. Her hair was just as brown and bushy, although slightly curlier than Harry remembered, and it looked as if she had spent time in the sun, although it was hard to tell with her dark skin. There was a smudge of ink on her cheek: most likely from already annotating the year's textbooks. 

'That reminds me. Sit down you two, open your gifts,' she directed, handing them each an item wrapped in purple paper. 

'Ahh...' Ron looked panicked momentarily, 'Uhh... Oh wait, here they are!' He pulled two parcels wrapped with garish orange Chudley Cannons wrapping paper from under his seat while Harry handed his to their respective recipients. Together, they began to unwrap them; unsurprisingly, Hermione had gifted him some of the the extra-curricular Defence Against the Dark Arts books he'd been considering buying at (sometimes he swore she could read minds) and Ron had given him some Chudley Cannons posters, and the old item of clothing. One scarf in particular stood out due to its almost luminescent orange colour, dotted with tiny black Bludgers. 

Looking up, Harry smiled seeing Hermione already flipping through the edition of 'The Art of Persuasion and Other Ways to Change Wizarding Law' he'd got her, whilst Ron, thrilled at the one person wizard's chess Hermione had got him (seeing as he complains that everyone refuses to play him because they are beaten consecutively), was now staring with unconcealed incredulity at the second, oddly-shaped package from Harry which had been partly opened - special edition chocolate frogs forgotten beside him. Harry had hoped Ron would like it. 

'What do you think then?' He questioned. 

'Mate, Harry, this is...' Ron swallowed visibly and let the rest of the paper fall off. 'I... I don't know what to say... thanks Harry. I mean... bloody hell!' The broom shone, freshly polished against the paper. Harry had made sure it was the best model - sleek, swift, agile. 

'I'm glad you like it. Come, on Hermione's opening your present.' 

They both turned to Hermione, who was opening her gift - it was 'The Complete Advanced Book of Spells and Charms', more a tome than a book, huge. It was also something Hermione had wanted for ages. But there was something else in the orange wrapping too. Fishing it out Hermione let out a rare giggle; she opened her palm to show Harry a small silver teaspoon. Harry was confused. Looking, Ron had a slightly abashed look on his face which faded when Hermione pulled him into a giant hug. 

'Ron, you're a genius. Wow, I can't believe that you remembered that.' Pulling away Ron looked rather sheepish: 'I just wanted you to know that I'm always here for you, y'know, and that one day you'll find someone wonderful who loves you properly. Not that I don't love you, 'Mione, its just... not like that.' He scratched the back of his head. 'Shit, I'm so bad at this.'

'You're not bad, Ron, you just- I love you too. Both of you, my idiotic brothers.' Hermione grinned cheekily at their mock-outrage, shuffling around in her seat, and everyone had put their gifts away semi-safely before she spoke up again. 'But I want you both to promise me that you'll be more open-minded now. The war is over. Everyone needs to heal, to come to terms with their lives. People seeking, and who deserve, another chance.' She paused to stare rather pointedly at them both. 'Particularly the students in other Houses. Goodness knows we need to support each other. I, for one, am going to try my best.' Harry flinched, but seeing her talk like this, her determined, change-the-world mode reminded Harry why she had the gleaming 'Eighth Year Head' badge on her robes. Both boys nodded, sealing their promise. 

'Yeah, a'right.' Ron agreed. 'Actually, something kind of strange happened recently. Dad was telling is all about it - you know that Malfoy and his mum have been cleared of all charges after you petitioned for them (though Lucius's gone to Askaban, thankfully) anyway, Malfoy's been clearing some stuff up at the Ministry and he went to the Muggle Artefacts Office and talked to Dad (I presume that he's been there a lot 'cause he's clearing out the Manor). But Dad said that he was really changed - polite an' all. Can you image Malfoy being polite? And he apologised to Dad for being such a bloody git to us all. Dad said that it 'looked like a huge, Lucius-sized weight had been lifted.' So maybe we'll see what that's all about I s'pose? 

Harry stared at Ron. 

'What did Hermione say to you?'

Ron paused in his bite of a chocolate frog. 'What makes you thi- oh all right! She gave me this speech about prejudices and how they started the whole war and how she's 'actually got some really good friends in Slytherin' (from some study group or something) and 'remember that Harry was going to be a Slytherin' - 'remember that most of the pureblood kids were just raised to think and act certain ways'. 'Mione pointed out to me that continuing your parents' rivalries or House rivalries or whatever is pointless.' 

'I'm really impressed Ron.' This was Harry, thankful that Ron understood what he and Hermione had been talking about over the last few weeks, in the midst of Harry's storm-surge breakdowns and rants - that is was absurd to hate someone because of what their parents had forced them to be. He was so sick of it. Sick of pointless hate. 

'Yeah, well it doesn't mean I'm going to be friends with him. Just not call him a stuck-up ferret... out loud.' 

'Phew! I thought Ron would never resurface then. Seriously though mate, it's nice to see you have some insight.' Harry grinned and Ron pulled a face. 'But on the subject of snakes; I'd like to introduce you two to someone.' 

Elegantly on time as ever, Morgan took the opportunity to slither out of the sleeve of Harry's denim jacket (the first thing, along with a white t-shirt and black jeans, that he'd grabbed and thrown on that morning), where she'd been asleep, curled around his forearm. 

'Ooh! She...' Hermione glanced up, and Harry nodded affirmatively, ' 's so pretty!' 

'She says you're pretty,' Harry hissed slowly to Morgan, who swayed appreciatively. And indeed she was - a small snake, thin and not very long, Morgan was soft white, pale yellow-brown and and pastel, powder-dust red under her head. Her eyes were smooth black and her curious tongue flickered out, tasting the air every so often. Harry was occupied re-noticing this before he realised that Hermione and Ron were staring at him. 

'Mate - Parseltongue - I thought.' Ron's weak stutter was interrupted by Hermione. 

'I thought, now that Voldemort's gone, you couldn't speak to snakes anymore Harry?' Harry smoothed his thumb over Morgan's head thoughtfully. 

'I.' He scrunched his nose, then pushed his glasses back up and tried to explain how he understood it. 'I can't speak Parseltongue fluently anymore. Because, I think, it was the bit of Voldemort that allowed me to do that. But I still have a kinda basic vocabulary and a grasp of how it functions. So I can communicate, albeit slowly and stiffly. I think it's like if you become fluent in a language , then barely speak it for 5 years.' 

Hermione's eyes lit up as she spoke: 'But that's so interesting Harry - do you think you could teach someone else then? This has never happened before, and that's why no-one can learn Parseltongue - it's strictly inherent. Could you explain to me the basics? I could try to document it, but only if you want to of course. Just think how helpful this could be!' 

Wow. Harry had missed being around Hermione like this. And forgotten what she was like when excited about a project: already he felt more invigorated than he had done in weeks. He caught Ron's eye as he changed the subject, Ron leaned forwards. 'So, how are you mate?' 

It was not an unwelcome question, but it did hold more depth than it first appeared. 'You do look better than you've done for a few... years.' Harry smiled. He felt a little better too, and a dose of general confidence (as opposed to Griffindor rashness) from the last few weeks, as he finally tried to get his shit together before coming to Hogwarts, made him feel that he looked better than he had, as Hermione suggested. 

Days outside in the rare British sun had darkened his olive skin. His untameable curly black hair rampaged around just above the nape of his neck and around his ears, and the ever-present glasses had been replaced with the new, round, brass-rimmed ones. His previously thin face has benefited from years of hearty, regular Hogwarts meals and the rest of his body has filled out more too - still life and sleek like a Seeker but (probably thanks to the runs and his local gym) toned with muscle. However, his green eyes were even more tinged with loss, and the struggle of the post-war crash. They tried to hide the darkness that had swept over him, but didn't always succeed. 

The Chosen One had returned to Hogwarts, equipped with new-found knowledge about the world and perspective of other people, but also more grounded. Happier, yes, and with determination to live his life, not just survive it. The slight nervousness around his new-found bisexuality probably didn't help, but Hermione assured him that he was no different, and everyone who loved him would support him. The Chosen One was also, 'Mione reminded him, going to be late if he didn't get changed now, for 'although the Eighth Years were allowed to be more lax about their uniform - especially in the trousers/skirt department - denim jackets were certainly not allowed.' 

'And you should get changed as well, Ron. I'm going to see Luna, Neville and Ginny as I'm changed,' were her parting words.

∆ 

After arriving, and having alternating chats with Luna - who said that many of his Wrakspurts had gone, so he had better developed his clarity of mind, Ginny - who's chatted about Quidditch and not been akward at all, agreeing that they 'weren't meant to be' whilst glancing amusedly and rather lovingly at Luna, and Neville himself - talking animatedly and excitedly about his letter asking him if he would like to be Professor Sprout's second-in-command, which he obviously accepted, everyone hurried into the Great Hall for the Sorting, the speech, and (most importantly in Ron's mind) the feast.


	3. The Feast (Don't Worry Ron's Not Going To Starve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a short one. Partly writing another though, so hopefully one tomorrow as well. (Corona at least means I have the time to spare). Also a little surprise in this one :)

Seated once more at the Griffindor table, under the quite incredible ceiling, still light as the the sun had not quite set, Harry watched as the First Years in their fresh, ironed new robes and hats, were led up to the Sorting Hat, which stood - sat? - was proud despite a few more rips in its hem.

Paying only half a mind to the Sorting itself, Harry noticed several new professors at the high table., although he really shouldn't have been surprised: what had he been expecting? Once it was over (Griffindor had acquired a good lot this year it seemed), the speech began. McGonagall stood up, casting silence over the Hall.

"Now then students, I shall speak as briefly as I can, but please bear in mind the wealth of things that must be mentioned. To begin, this year shall be the first in what I hope shall be Hogwarts anew, starting with House Unity. To encourage this, students are allowed to eat at any table in the Great Hall for meals if they wish. The only time all students must be seated at their table is during Assemblies. Furthermore, a four month program with a selected few from our Eighth Year will put into place. This will be explained, and will begin, during tomorrow's Assembly at breakfast.

"The Forbidden Forest is out of bounds as usual, as are the dungeons, which were severely damaged during the battle. Several Potions classrooms are now on the second floor, so make sure to check your timetables carefully. On the topic of new additions, the destroyed courtyard has been rebuilt as a commemorative space to those who lost and gave their lives to defeat Voldemort. Please note that this is a quiet space for reflection and contemplation, and do not hesitate if you wish to discuss anything with your Head of House or Prefects: they, I am sure, will always have an ear open to you.

"Now from old friends to new faces, we have plenty of new professors at Hogwarts, and so I introduce to you: Professor Asala, our new Muggle Studies teacher; Professor Acreaha, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; Professor Aldo," and here a giant of a man stood up - not quite on Hagrid's level, but huge, "the new Potions teacher and Head of Slytherin House, and Professor Mervyn," an eccentric looking sort, 'our Transfiguration teacher and Head of Griffindor House. As well as teachers, I am sure that although we make at be sad to see him leave us, we are ultimately pleased for him as the Griffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, otherwise known as Nearly Headless Nick, was the target of a hex which caused his head to completely remove itself. In the aftermath of this event, Sir Nicholas has decided to join the Headless Hunt." Here Headmistress McGonagall paused to smile slightly. "We are therefore delighted to welcome a new Griffindor ghost." As if by cue - and, on reflection, it probably was - a glowing silver figure emerged from the table directly where Ron was staring. At first indistinct, the ghost gathered form: constellations of freckles not faded by death, characteristic mischievous grin and the unmistakable hair. Ron had almost fainted by the time McGonagall spoke again.

"Students, please show your welcome to our newest ghost, Mr. Fred Weasley."

Now the Headmistress did smile, a smile so uncharacteristic that it was almost a grin, as the Hall burst into raucous cheers, whoops and yells as Fred soared over all the tables. And none were telling louder than Ron (now largely recovered) and Ginny, who both had tear tracks running down their faces, turning silver as the sun finally set. Colours, bright and fantastic, swept across the ceiling dramatically. After letting the noise remain for a few minutes, Headmistress McGonagall spoke - commanding quiet again.

"Now let us welcome a new era to Hogwarts. One of peace, prosperity, and hope. With one last notice, the entire collection of Hogwarts rules have been published and are available to all students, due to a rule that I have personally set in place in order for Hogwarts to head magical progress - 'any student/s wishing to abolish or change a rule may have a private discussion with me, as the Headteacher, where we shall come to an agreement.' Now, to eat!"

Suddenly ravenous, Harry ate until he was full and - the ceiling now dark indigo, spotted with mist and stars - it was time to sleep. The climb through the castle to the Tower passed in a blur. He was tired, even more so now he was full of food, and Harry's last coherent before he sank into sleep was indistinct: something about a fairly excellent start to his final year. The most he could hope for, he thought, was that this year was as normal as possible - and even his inner voice was tinged with drowsiness.


	4. 4. And So It Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! (Sorry I lied about posting this yesterday, honestly let's face it I can only try to be mildly consistent). It's kinda weird to see people are actually reading (and enjoying! So strange) my work. So lots of love to you lovely people. Ok, I'll let you get on with it :)

Harry awoke the next morning surprisingly well for the amount of food he had consumed (namely his precious treacle tart). As if to welcome him home, the nightmares had not been so vivid or consecutive, especially for his return to the (albeit renovated somewhat) site of the battle, as he had anticipated.

Ron however, was not faring so well with the early start - but it was Ron so nothing unexpected. Neville, already dressed and having been watering plants by the damp sleeves of his robes (Harry had definitely gotten more observant, he congratulated himself. Perhaps death does that to you?) was half-heartedly attempting to awake and remove Ron from his bed. (Neville himself having obviously managed to extract himself from the large collection of plants and cacti surrounding his bed already, which took a great deal more skill than most gave him credit for, as Harry knew from nasty experience).

The room rather clearer with his glasses on, Harry bemusedly noticed that some people had not changed their routines either. Seamus' bed was empty, and the were two lumps with heads in Dean's. One appeared to have his arm slung haphazardly over the other. Coughing to awaken the two, Harry was half-reminding, half-asking the room at large, albeit rather blearily, that the Assembly, and breakfast, was five minutes away when Ron groggily spoke up.

"If Seamus hasn't used his bed in the past however-many years, can we get rid of it and have more room for ourselves?"

"Hey!" Seamus' scruffy head popped up. "I- "

"Never use it anyway?" Neville suggested, joining in.

"Don't need it?" Harry added.

"Would willingly donate it to your wonderful mates who need more space?" Was Ron's addition (he had actually sat up at this point).

"I agree," added a new voice - Dean, yawing and propping himself up on one elbow. "I could have an easel in the freed-up space..." He yawned widely, "Come on then, if we have assembly." He smiled at Seamus, in agreement with Ron as never one for mornings, and planted a lazy kiss on the other boy's lips.

△

Five everyone minutes later they were heading down to the Great Hall, Ron with one sleeve of his robes tangled in the other as they hurried. Making it the nick of time as the stairs switched, narrowly avoiding a dramatic entrance (thankfully) Harry sat down at the Griffindor table, and helped himself to sausages and eggs before Headmistress McGonagall began the Assembly. Hermione had braided a section of her hair, held back under a patterned scarf today, Harry noticed absently as she passed him the beans.

"Now in the aim of improved House Unity, myself and the Heads of House have devised a four month swap program for some Eighth Year students. Two students, one boy and one girl, will be randomly selected by Professor Mervyn and will swap with their counterpart from another House. Slytherins will swap with Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws with Hufflepuffs. Before the selection, however, I shall go over some rules.

"The swapped student will wear the other House's uniform, sit at the other House's table, stay in the other House's rooms and earn or lose points for that House. Most importantly, there will be no sabotage. Once selected, the students participating shall take a magical oath to insure that there will be no cheating. The point of this program is to make friends among other Houses, and to bring us together as a school. So now I will pass over to Professor Mervyn."

As the Headmistress stepped away from the platform, a low murmur stirred around the room. It quietened as someone who Harry dimly remembered as being Professor Mervyn due to the large number of bracelets and the bright waistcoat they was wearing, stood up.

Letting his gaze wander as the teacher began to talk about how students were chosen, Harry picked out a familiar figure at the Slytherin table. And, quite frankly, he stared.

Malfoy, for that was undoubtedly who the figure was, had finally abandoned his slicked-back hair for a more relaxed style, long on the top and flopping over his face artfully, which Harry definitely didn't imagine running his hands through. It would be incredibly soft, like it could melt away in his fingers...

Ahem. Perhaps even more unexpected was that the unmistakable white-blond colour had, at the very ends, been tinged with pale blue. Malfoy still had impeccable uniform from what Harry could see, crip white collar and robes. And then he caught a brief glimpse of where the Dark Mark would have been when Malfoy absent-mindedly pushed his sleeve back as he reached for a sausage, before hurriedly pushing it back down; except it was covered by a magical tattoo of some kind - Harry could have sworn he saw the tail of a dragon flick - surrounded by some kind of flower.

Harry was brought out of his in-depth analysis of Malfoy's appearance - he had not looked like that at the trial: Harry would most definitely have noticed - by Hermione.

"Earth to Harry! Harry! There you are, pay attention because the names are being called. And you might want to shut your mouth," she added with look and an equally knowing smirk that was all to familiar. (He dearly hoped she couldn't read minds.) Turning to look at the eccentric professor, Harry thanked his darker skin that she couldn't see him definitely not blushing - although it was Hermione, for all that you had to look really hard to actually see Hermione blush, she had a knack of just knowing things. He shook his head.

The Sorting Hat, it seemed, was being used to pick the students, most likely after the disaster of the Triwizard Tournament's Goblet of Fire incident. Professor Mervyn began.

"To start, a Ravenclaw perhaps. Hat?"

"Hmm. I believe... CHANDRACANT, CIARÁN!" Although the name was shouted like the calling of the House, it seemed to Harry very strange to hear the Sorting Hat speak normally. Nevertheless, a tall boy with brown hair and Desi skin like Harry's own stood and followed Professor Mervyn's motions to the front of the Hall.

"A Hufflepuff next then, dear Hat."

"Yes, yes, ahh... WATTS, FINN!" A friendly-looking, medium height boy with brown-blonde hair joined the Ravenclaw, and shook his hand with a very Hufflepuff grin.

"Right. Now, if you could just stand to one side dear boys?" The professor asked them something inaudible. "Good, good. Now please stay here until we can complete the oath when we have everyone. Thought of two girls Hat?"

"Yes, from Hufflepuff, GREEN, MARTHA," - a petite girl with golden-blonde plaits, "and WHITTLE, ALEXIS from Ravenclaw," who was a black girl with what Harry thought were tun buns of coily black hair perched on her head (a style Fred and George had apparently attempted on Bill) that Harry distinctly remembered being awfully good at Transfiguration, joined the boys at the front. Professor Mervyn also asked them what they had asked the boys. Then,

"Girls first next I think Hatty."

"Well, Slytherin, Slytherin... Better be ASHTON, LURLEI!" At this a tall girl with straight black hair and unmistakably aristocratic features joined the growing group of students at the front.

"Now to swap, to swap, hmm... Ahhh yes...GALLO, FRANKIE!" A short, muscular Italian girl Harry recognised - a good person to share a laugh with, and also his original-ish introduction to the world of the queer community: she was asexual, and ran a blog he had run across at some point over the summer. She was also an incredible Beater, he'd learnt, unfortunately reduced on Madam Pomfrey's orders to commentary: the kind approved by Lee Jordan and about tolerated by McGonagoll.

"And another Slytherin... hmm... SCAMMANDER, AMADEUS ROLF!" A boy with tawny brown hair and a distinctive double piercing at the top of his ear made his way toward the other students. And then it was time for the Gryffindor. "Gryffindor, Gryffindor, I wonder... POTTER, HARRY!"

Harry rolled his eyes with a wry smile, his friends on the Gryffindor table erupting into gales of laughter (along with the majority of the Hall), Ron laughing through his pumpkin juice, gasping for breath. Harry could've sworn that even the Sorting Hat itself was laughing.

"Well, that was unexpected," Hermione joked.

"Would have made for some easy Divination homework," Harry replied as he joined the students of the program. Answering the Professor's questions quickly, he moved to the side, next to the pierced Slytherin. "Alright, then?" He murmured. The boy looked distracted. Professor Mervyn starts talking to the other students and the Slytherin turns as McGonagoll approaches them. She takes Amad-something aside slightly.

"You don't have to do this. If you want us to choose someone else that is more than acceptable. Deus look at me This is when you need to prioritise yourself, what you are comfortable doing." _Deus_ , then, was twisting his hands nervously. He looked up at McGonagoll's kindly questioning. "Would you like us to choose another candidate?" She was almost grandmotherly, nodding at Deus' small nod.

"Please. I'm sorry Headmistress but I don't think- I don't think I'm ready for that kind of... pressure? Anxiety? I don't know."

The Headmistress smiled. "Alright then. A sensible decision." She inclined her head at the other Professor. Deus moved to sit back at the Slytherin table when she spoke again. "While you are up here then Deus, would you be so kind as to come along. With Mr. Zabini's commitments-" The Sorting Hat had just proclaimed 'Zabini, Blaise' as the new Slytherin candidate. "- we have a few minor arrangements to make."

Zabini had strolled to the front of the Hall, oozing calm confidence. He fist-bumped Lurlei, who shook her head at him, smiling, and shook Harry's hand. The other was steady on Deus' shoulder as the taller boy lent down, asking, "You alright there, Deus?" At his nod and smile e turned his attention back to Harry.

"Potter. Hmm. You share a dorm with Weasley I would assume, and ahem..." He cleared his throat. "Neville right? Err, Longbottom?"

Mildly taken aback, Harry questioned the other boy: "You know Neville?"

"I've been- I was his Herbology partner. Before..." Zabini's brow creased distractedly. "Anyway," he recovered slightly, "he must have spoken about me, no?" It seemed the infamous flirt was back, but Harry couldn't quite tell whether he was teasing or not.

"I'm afraid I don't honestly remember, err... never have been to good at focusing."

"So you _are_ quite as oblivious as Draco says." Zabini drawled. "And I must say he says a-" He was cut off by McGonagoll, who was addressing the group.

"Now, you all have ten minutes until first lessons, you should all have your timetables? Good." She turned to direct her words at the small group at the front. "Now remember most of you have a free before lunch, so that is when I expect you to settle in a bit." She turned back tot he rest of the Hall. "Get along then, and make a good start to the year." She turned back towards the assembled program students. "Follow Professor Flitwick please, as he will be overseeing the oath. Deus, if you could come along for the moment as well."

The students filed into the familiar classroom, ever infused with the scent of ageing parchment and oak desks. Musty. The indescribable undertone of magic was thick in the air. The tiny Professor Flitwick was perched, as per usual, on a precarious stack of thick volumes looking very much the same, although perhaps a few strands of silver were present in his moustache. The Headmistress talked over some more rules of the swap, questions that people had and the benefits of why they were doing it for about an hour, until it was time for the 'oath.'

"Please face your swap partner, forming two lines. With _your left_ hand, grab _their left_ wrist." At Professor Flitwick's words, the Slytherin girl spoke up sharply, her crow-dark hair whipping around her face. 

"This isn't the Unbreakable Vow, is it?" A strange, whispered terror lurked in her tone, making Harry uncomfortable.

"Goodness no Miss Ashton. It is simply an oath which will alert your Head of House if you purposely lose House Points or otherwise sabotage the aim of the swap program." Harry was sure that McGonagall had picked up on the tone as well. Satisfied, Lurlei? - Harry was fairly sure - nodded as Professor Flitwick began again. 

"Now, remember that you are part of this program once you complete this oath. You may leave if you wish to." His voice was kind, but no-one made as if to leave. "Excellent. Please repeat after me:

_With the oath I am bound,_

_If these rules I break, I will be found."_

Dutifully repeating the words, Harry watched as the electric-blue ribbons of light wrapped around his and Zabini's arms from Professor Flitwick's complicated wand movements. Zabini's skin was smooth, darker than Harry's own even on the palm. "You may now proceed to your lessons. After, please meet with your exchange partner, tell them the password to your House and help them settle in. These are to be _your_ Houses for the next four months after all. The majority of your belongings have already been moved by willing house elves, except for yours, Mr Zabini. The house elf was rather, ahh, _overwhelmed_ so I expect you to pack yourself. As you have your other commitments, Mr Scammander has kindly volunteered, as one of Mr Potter's new dorm mates to show him around, but I expect you to meet him there afterwards. Now, to lessons..."

Zabini and Deus snickered slightly at the mention of Zabini's stuff, even more so when Harry turned to them, bewilderment and hilarity equally evident on his face. 

"How do you _overwhelm_ a house elf?" He asked incredulously. Deus' smile grew, Zabini simply smirking, patting Harry on the arm conspiratorially and walking away quite before Harry had registered what was happening. He tossed a few words back at the pair.

"I'll see you later. Sorry about this, but sure you can manage with Deus." Just as Harry was about to ask something else, something - an alarm of some kind -pinged from inside Deus' robes, causing him to cast a quick _Tempus_ charm.

"Shit, I'm late," he muttered, dashing off with a, "Meet you during free-" tossed back over his shoulder to Harry. Were all Slytherins like this?

As he was picking up the stack of books and parchment, delivered a little earlier by a house elf in a little blue dress, he heard an apologetic voice behind him.

"Sorry for intruding, but I just wanted to say that you may want to attend both House Meetings: the Gryffindor one is on Friday I think. Lucky they are not at the same time, or you'd need a Time-Turner, right Harry?" There was a smile in the tone. A bemused Professor Mervyn stood behind Harry smiling gently before walking away in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons, a trail of books floating after them. Standing looking after the odd teacher, Harry was struck by just how difficult it was to accurately describe them : quirky, perhaps a little bohemian in style, decisively individual and unapologetically _weird_. Luna would probably get on with them.

Shaking his head as if to clear his ever-busy thoughts, Harry picked up the pile of his books which had appeared

Harry headed off to (if he remembered correctly) Muggle Studies. Needing another elective, Hermione had convinced him to take the class, suggesting that it would be helpful to understand more of the Muggle World than Private Drive. She had also reasoned out that it might give the Muggle World a 'more positive light in his subconscious' or something...


	5. 5. A New Home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I think I have a few ideas for more chapters now, but I realised I forgot to say that if you have any ideas or requests you'd like me to consider, please comment them! (Also if there are any mistakes I haven't picked up on.) Lots of love as always! :)

After the double - surprisingly rather enjoyable - lesson ("I told you!" smiled Hermione), Harry was walking to the Great Hall, assuming it was where Deus had agreed to meet him, during the free period most Eighth Years, although apparently not Zabini, had. Luckily, Deus was already waiting for him. Arriving in the dungeons with a painful stubbed toes ( _damn_ that staircase. Every. Time.) Deus snapped his fingers at Harry, retrieving his attention.

"Remember: _'shed the past.'_ " The seemingly blank stone wall slid open, and the two boys stepped into a common room in disarray: thick green curtains drawn hastily in front of what Harry presumed was windows to the Lake; a messily lit fire roaring away in the carved marble fireplace; and most surprisingly, cushions and blankets scattered on sofas and chairs. Noticing Harry's quizzical glances, Deus spoke up defensively. "Alright, probably not the hard Slytherin heart you were expecting, but it's fucking freezing in here: even more than usual. Something about the damage breaking all the heating wards."

Harry broke out into a grin: maybe this wouldn't be so bad. "Come on, I need to see what can overwhelm a house-elf." Deus rolled his eyes and started walking down a passage in on corner of the room. "I mean," Harry continued, "we've only been here one day."

After twists and turns that seemed designed to ensure Harry would never see the light of day again, Harry paused in front of the door Deus had his hand on.

"What's with the doors?" He asked, referencing how all of the doors they's passed were _covered._ With banners, with postcards, pictures, quotes, signs and posters.

"Slytherin tradition. We do have some other than being dark and moody. Come on." He made to open the door.

"Wait." Harry didn't quite know why he was suddenly stalling. "You never told me who you share a dorm with. This can't all be your handwriting." He pointed to the door, almost head-to-floor covered with moving panoramas of exotic landscapes, posters for films and books, illustrations of various plants and animals (annotated), song lyrics, Quidditch symbols and, Harry was somewhat surprised to see, pride flags - many of which he must admit he didn't recognise.

Deus ran a hand carefully over the surface. "Took us until Second Year to get it how we wanted. Add to it occasionally. I room with Blaise, obviously, Theo Nott and Draco Malfoy."

Malfoy.

Harry's mind was racing as was his heart, weirdly, as he walked into the room, barely registering the appearance of the room he would be living in. His eyes were immediately drawn to the blond figure sitting on the far bed, just visible behind partially-closed curtains. Tearing his eyes away Harry looked around the room properly, half-listening to Deus' amicable chatter. There were four beds hung in various shades of green, with the normal wardrobes and desks and a few armchairs like their dorm back up in Gryffindor Tower, only with the more Slytherin accents and decoration, as expected. In one corner there was a door, presumably to the bathroom, but unlike his own dorm, the room was more rectangular than circular, and interspersed with pictures and posters. Similarly however, the room was in a state of disarray much like the Common Room, with trunks wide open and various amounts of belongings unpacked. Deus was busily pulling all manner of items out of his seemingly unending case whilst Harry watched amusedly from his seat on the end of Deus' bed. (Although why Harry was surprised at the capabilities of a good charm, after Hermione).

"Blaise should be back any minute now, I should think." Deus' words brought Harry out of his contemplation.

"What's he doing anyway? I thought all us Eighth Years had a free before break."

Theo raised his head to look at Harry from where he was, Harry noticed, piling various blankets onto his bed. "Italian. He's fluent but wants to do the exam so he's got to cover all the literature stuff. Apparently the new Professor - Meryvn - can teach it, so."

Harry nodded, attempting a friendly smile. It was difficult trying to reintroduce yourself as a friend to people who you've taken as enemies for the past seven years.

Just then, the door opened. Harry had barely registered the tall, dark shape of Zabini heading towards him. He stood up automatically, thinking only how he recent growth still meant he was only up to Zabini's shoulders until the boy grabbed the front of Harry's robes.


	6. 6. The Anxious Bee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm back! Really sorry for the wait (pls don't kill me). I already have the next one almost done so should be up soon (shh I know I said that last time). Thanks for the comments you don;t know how happy and excited it makes me that people actually are enjoying this? Anyway, thank you! I'll let you get on with it :)

Zabini grabbed the front of Harry's robes, and said clearly: "I do apologise for being like this now, as it's a terrible light on my rather fabulous personality, but I do need to make several things clear, and get them through your Gryffindor skull. I'm not leaving you two," he gestured towards Malfoy, "spatting all day and night. One thing, if anything: Draco. Is. Recovering. If you hurt him, I'll punch you. Otherwise, welcome to the family. Now, niceties over." He grinned charmingly before pushing Harry towards the bed with two of its emerald-moss drapes closed. "Sort it out." He turned sharply to, what Harry presumed was, his own bed due to its exceptionally cluttered surroundings.

Stumbling slightly, and attempting to un-fuddle his thoughts, Harry walked towards Draco's bed, which was neat and orderly as much as he could see. Now he could see into the part previously closed off by curtains, Malfoy was visible. He seemed to be absorbed in scrawling furiously onto several scrolls of thick parchment. Until, that is, the blond in question waved an ink-smudged hand at Harry.

"Sit down then, unless you'd rather remain hovering like an anxious bee?" Harry hurriedly sat down, copying Malfoy who was cross-legged on the (really soft) deep green of the duvet. He waited in what he would have immediately labelled as awkward silence - not that he'd ever considered sitting for a chat on Malfoy's bed - but found that it wasn't too bad, just sitting in this little bubble of calm, watching Malfoy so focused, steadily filling the page with elegant italics. He felt... _in the moment_ , that place Hermione was always trying to get him to go to; Hermione and her mindfulness, which involved far too much sitting still and listening to your breathing for Harry's liking. But now maybe he understood what she was on about as he took in the way Malfoy's hair was sticking up slightly, white and pale, forget-me-not blue ruffled every so often by one hand, and his pink-tinged cheeks.

Malfoy had finished writing and was looking at Harry somewhat warily, as if he had been caught off guard before. Harry realised he might have been staring. Malfoy huffed.

"Well since we are roommates now." He paused. "I believe that perhaps if you are willing, we could put the past behind us." He acted blasé, but even Harry could sense the double meaning: forgiveness. There was a look in his eyes, a wall ready to be thrown up if needed.

"On two conditions. One, that you-"

"-apologise to your friends. Stop gawping Potter, you're really quite predictable. Besides, I swore I would regardless. It is that difficult to believe I would apologise for the atrocious behaviour of my younger self?"

Harry's eyes glinted. "Two, that it is Harry." He wondered what reaction that would have.

"Then most certainly not Malfoy." Was perhaps not the answer he was expecting.

"And thirdly..." The famous raised eyebrow and "What happened to two conditions?" was ignored. "Help me with Potions?"

The joking half-begging question cause a wry smile to tug at the corner of Malfoy- Draco's pale lips. "Is that quite all?" He asked faux-mockingly.

"For now I think it will suffice." Harry reciprocated haughtily before cracking into splutters of laughter. Draco truly smiled now, wide and full.

Stretching, his back cracking slightly (not noticing how Draco's eyes flicked quickly to the skin where his shirt rode up), Harry stood and surveyed the room. There were four beds hung in rich shades of green, with the normal wardrobes and desks, a few armchairs like his own room up in Griffindor Tower, only with green and silver fittings rather than red and gold. Unlike his own dorm, however, the Slytherin room was interspersed with posters and pictures although similarly it was somewhat in a state of chaos, much like the Common Room, with cushions piled around the windows looking into the Great Lake (the cause of the shifting blueish light in the room, Harry would realise later that night) and blankets heaped upon every bed. Harry could swear Nott (Theo, he supposed) was wearing two pairs of socks.

Looking over to where Deus and Zabini stood, though, the rest of the room was a sparkling as Aunt Petunia demanded her kitchen to be, compared to what Harry assumed was Zabini's bed. The curtains were pushed back, or more likely could not close, as the whole area looked as if it had been hit with a bomb, savaged by a pack of feral animals and then been the path of a buffalo stampede once or twice. In short, it was mind-mindbogglingly messy: no wonder the poor house-elf had admitted defeat. Their progress - a trunk half-open, around 3/4 packed - not even a scrape in the pile.

"Hell, Deus. Err, Zabini. It's..." He trailed off.

Deus turned and grinned at him. Zabini smiled. "It's a bit worse than usual because I unpacked in a rush. Fuck, it's cold. Lucky I'm here, right?" He winked as Deus groaned and clutched his chest dramatically, obviously used to such antics. "Anyway, apologies for earlier, although not really because it was kinda needed, no?" He patted Harry's shoulder with one large hand, and smirked over him. Deus rolled his eyes amusedly, turning back to the taller boy, who smiled lazily. "What you _can_ do Deus, is chuck me that shirt there." He gestured vaguely at a pile on the floor, and was thrown a surprisingly un-creased shirt. Pointing his wand at the catastrophy and muttering a few complex-sounding spells he began to take off his school shirt, replacing it with the other. Linen or cotton, probably worth about Harry's entire wardrobe. He left it unbuttoned, that characteristic Zabini smirk showing when he noticed Harry looking. Harry looked away. You had to admit, though, Zabini had some good abs.

Whatever spells had been cast seemed to have been well able to cope with the disaster - invisible winds were whisking items up and into various trunks. Deus had cast a similar spell over his less catastrophic but no less impressive pile of unpacked stuff, with his items flying around, somehow not mixing up with Zabini's and being sorted into their places: wardrobe, desk, bedside table and even through the door on the other wall, presumably the bathroom. Within surprisingly little time, everything was packed and around three trunks were floating in front of the waiting Zabini. Harry straightened up from where he was unpacking his own things, cautiously to avoid getting in the way.

"Ready?"

"As ready as one can be when becoming a Griffindor."

"You could never!" Was the reply hollered by Nott from the bathroom.

△

They arrived in Griffindor Tower. Having supplied Zabini with the password, Harry felt suddenly nervous at the idea of leaving his home in Griffindor, if only for 4 months.


	7. 7. Meet The Boyz (I Hate Myself For Writing That)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hii! Look I actually updated for once! Anyway I had a question for you lot: one of the chapters I've partially written has Parvati in, as a Griffindor. I've now realised that Parvati is actually a Ravenclaw (in the books, but in the movies she's in Griffindor). Rewriting this part wouldn't be a massive hassle but I might re-jig some parts of her relationship with Lavender (I've written them as an established relationship), so what do you think? In addition any advice on ways of gently incorporating some aspects of their background - I was thinking about writing them as Hindu? - so if you have any ideas on that front it would be greatly appreciated. (We are not and will never speak of the Yule Ball movie sari catastrophe). Thanks, and further continued thanks for your support!

Harry breathed in deeply, attempting to absorb the feel of the Griffindor common room, as if it wasn't already entrenched in him. It had that seeping warmth which was ever-present, but was so much more noticeable after Slytherin. Zab- Blaise was looking around with interest - luckily there weren't many people in right now, as most others years were in lessons. Harry tried to see the room from the other boy's perspective. It was quite red, he supposed, although quite what else was expected? He let his shoes sink a little further into the rug (yes - it was red) then gestured for Blaise to follow him.

"Girls' dorms." He said when they reached the archway, pointing to the other stairs. "Obviously don't try to get up there, not that you'd get far."

"Huh?"

Harry wrinkled his brow to mirror Blaise's. "Well obviously the stairs won't let you up?"

"They actually do that?" He hopped up a few steps, getting about a third of the way before the stairs decided they weren't impressed, flattening to slide the intruder back to the bottom.

"You mean that doesn't happen in Slytherin?" They continued to walk to the dorm.

"Hasn't happened before." Blaise smirked. "Or in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, as far as I'm aware."

Harry knocked on the door when they reached it - better safe than sorry, he felt. It was opened by Dean, who kept his hand on the edge, opening it enough to hold a conversation comfortably whilst obscuring the room behind with his body.

"Alright Harry?" He inclined his head. "Zabini." He turned over his shoulder and yelled into the room: "GUEST." Then he turned back with a smile. The sounds of someone scrabbling around, followed by the rapid opening and shutting of drawers could be heard. "I'm stalling," Dean offered, "so Ron can shove all his underwear and shirts somewhere that's not the floor. First impressions and all - not _first_ exactly, but..." He threw another glance into the room before opening the door fully, with a flourish like a posh footman. Harry later realised this was probably a test of teasing Blaise.

It was the quiet of awkward silence as they entered: Dean by the door, Seamus sprawled one a bed, Ron standing faux-casually at the end of his, attempting to look as if he hadn't just been stuffing stray clothes anywhere they'd fit a few seconds earlier. Blaise let his trunks drop onto the bed Harry indicated. Eventually Ron broke the awkwardness with a cough. He raised his eyebrows, as if to himself.

"Better stick to my promises, I guess." He stuck out a hand to Blaise who shook it, largely out of instinct. "Ron."

"Blaise." Blaise responded, seeming to pick up on the meaning behind the actions.

Seamus had been watching from his position on the bed. "Well, that's your welcome to Griffindor." It was at that moment Neville walked in. He was usually rather adept at slipping in quietly, but was foiled somewhat by the irritated creak their door had developed. He regained his composure at seeing Blaise quickly.

"Bl- Zabini." Harry caught the look that flashed over Blaise's face, quickly masked, but couldn't decipher it.

"Longbottom?" The famed (read: infamous) smooth composure was back. "Missed me and my wit?" As was the certainly infamous flirt, apparently.

Seamus was definitely interested in this development, having sat up to watch the proceedings. He was not disappointed.

"I believe to miss something it has to exist in the first place. Your wit has been missing for longer than I've known you." Was Neville's retort.

"I come into this place, a guest, and I am disrespected! I inform you I _shall_ be speaking to the management." Blaise's performance was taken well. Judging by the hiccuping laughter from Seamus, the stifled laughter from Ron and the almost-laughing smile of Dean, combined with the smile crack in Neville's poker-faced delivery, it seemed that Blaise was going to settle in alright. Harry matched Blaise's grin, chuckling slightly himself, and hugged his friends. He walked out before he couldn't bear to leave.

Still he dawdled in the common room, soaking in the atmosphere just a little more. Then he stepped through the portrait for the last time. In a while, anyway.


	8. 8. The Death Of Blaise Zabini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii! I'm back. (In case you are worried, there is no actual death in this chapter). A new POV! And we get to see the boiiss and how they're getting on!! Umm warning for like detailed descriptions of people as hot? Idk. We get some lusting ok. Also hope it's ok and not bad or wierd bc this is me attempting to write a lusty (ugh horrible word) description of a guy as 1. an ace person and 2. someone not really attracted to guys. Uhh anyway you probably didn't need to know that. I'll let you get on with what you actually want to read :)

~ Note: POV Switch from last chapter ~

Blaise was an early riser. Although, it seemed, not as early as Neville. Still in pyjamas, the other boy was carefully watering the various hanging plants around his bed, whilst an enchanted watering can did the less precise work of the potted variety. He was humming slightly, just quiet enough not to work the others.

"How are they doing?" Blaise found his tone soft.

Neville didn't startle, turning to meet Blaise's eyes only after attentively picking stray hairs out of one of the pots. When he did look at the figure sat in the bed next to him, his eyes flickered down. Blaise told himself it was purely to get more comfortable that he stretched out and propped himself further up against the headboard, allowing the thin white sheet to slip down a little further. (Alright, perhaps the stretch was too much.) The action was certainly not so he could gauge the reaction of the tousled brunet in front of him. Which, by the way, would have been rather rewarding if that was his intention (which it wasn't, obviously). If he were anyone else he would have said the dusky blush which spread over the other boy's lightly freckle-scattered cheeks was stirringly cute; however Blaise Zabini did not find people cute. (Thank Merlin Griffindor Tower was so damned hot as to warrant him sleeping in only his boxers.)

Neville was busy considering another plant, whose draping shoots were drifting listlessly to themselves.

"She does't like travelling. Being shrunk. I'll have to ask Professor Sprout for some of that special Revitalising Potion, hopefully then she'll," He ran a finger over one of the leaves gently, "get back to her more energetic self."

"Trailing Purple Kousa." Blaise definitely didn't thrill at the spark of interest? Pride? in Neville's appraising eye. "Don't think I would enjoy being shrunk either." They smiled. "A beautiful variety though - I've rarely seen one so well developed."

"Morgana I need a shower."

"Morning, Ron." Blaise's brief stab of annoyance ( _unwarranted_ ) faded quickly. So the groggy voice, and now stumbling footsteps; faint sound of water from the showers, was the infamous morning Weasley. "Actually, I better get in before the others wake up as well." Neville glanced between the showers and the few plants he had remaining.

"I don't mind." Blaise interrupted his thoughts. "Didn't you say the third shower was a bit dodgy? "Besides, these are some of my favourites." he smiled lazily, standing up languidly for extra effect, but Neville had already nodded in thanks, faint smile on his lips- yeah, not going there Blaise told himself - and was heading for the showers. He took up the watering can.

△

Blaise had just finished with the plants he had found half-tucked under the bed, and Ron was largely changed by the lack of one-legged shuffling sounds when there was a muffled groan from one of the two beds with its curtains still drawn. A few moments passed - Blaise looked at Ron, who breathed a long-suffering sigh.

"Well, the Tuesday rule still stands." Was the rather puzzling statement he was given as Ron pulled out his wand. The thick curtains whipped open. Dean's voice was the low of most guys in the morning as he said:

"You do spoil all my fun Weasley," but his tone was light. Ron shook his head familiarly. Seamus looked put-out (or, as put-out as someone can look whilst half-straddling another). He sat on the edge of the bed as Dean pushed him off.

"We know Seamus is an exhibitionist, but that doesn't mean we want to hear it." Ron was saying, rolling his eyes at Dean. Blaise wasn't really paying attention. He felt himself staring.

How had he been so blind - when he prided himself on knowing all the goings-on of the castle: knowing everyone, what they were doing ( _who_ they were doing). He didn't listen to the grapevine, he _was_ the grapevine. Well, Pansy included, obviously. Well it was rather plain now. If it wasn't apparent from the circumstances, the large, dark marks blooming over Finnigan's chest and neck were a bit of a hint.

His thoughts were interrupted by Ron, whose tone had dropped lower: guarded, warning.

"Everything alright?" It was warning. Blaise laughed, shaking his head.

"Everything's fine. Congratulations, I guess. Feel rather miffed I missed that one." He nodded at Dean. "Oh come on, it would be rather hypocritical of me to disapprove I feel?"

His only answer was a raised ginger eyebrow.

"I'm pansexual?" Honestly, if there was any Hogwarts news that was an old one. What did Griffindors do - shield themselves from all gossip?

"Oh." Ron relaxed. Dean inclined his head, smiling thankfully.

From somewhere behind him, Neville scoffed, baiting him. "Pan people still have standards."

Silence.

"You-"

Blaise had turned. The sight greeting him was entirely unexpected (although certainly not unwelcome, his body helpfully told him). Neville. Fresh from the shower. In just a towel.

The water in his hair caught the weak September-morning light, glinting. It was slightly over grown - longer than usual - pushed back over his head so the lines his fingers had raked through were still visible. His face was a fresh-scrubbed pink, that light dusting of freckles angelic, his _lips_. Blaise had stopped himself earlier, but he couldn't even try now. They were pale reddish-pink, full and _soft_. Then! Thick arms of coiled muscle; broad shoulders with just-dark shadows of his collarbones, still with that blasted light-brown dusting. No abs but somehow this was better: the lightest touch of toned muscle and stomach, slim but so soft-looking Blaise just wanted to run his hands over the smooth skin, and speaking of, the cruellest taste of the V of his hips, tucked away like a secret under that damned towel. Even his calves were rounded and strong - he could only imagine the thighs and what else lay under the white fabric. By Morgana, what _had_ Neville been doing? If his intent was to cause the deaths of the (Blaise would admit) not-so-innocent, then it was working.

He realised what he was doing - eyes glued to Neville's body - and tried to play it coolly, but only had to hope his blush wasn't great enough the show on his dark skin. (Blaise Zabini, blushing? What was he coming to?) He forced himself to catch Neville's words.

"You fuck something if it breathes, moves and wear school uniform."

Blaise had recovered himself enough to clutch his chest in mock upset as Seamus guffawed.

"I am _most_ upset you see this way. I would consider myself a romantic." He played it dramatically, widening his eyes.

Neville smirked teasingly. (Surely that was Blaise's thing?) "I think the word you're looking for is _fuckboy_."

And then, because the world didn't put him through enough already that morning, he bent over the end of the bed, stretching for his shirt on the far side. Blaise Zabini, flirt (and fuck) of Hogwarts - unreadable, unflappable, _nonchalant_ \- went weak at the knees.

This would be a long four months.

Draco and Pansy were going to have a field day.


	9. The Girlz (why?) I Guess Finally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so i guess even lockdown can't make me that productive so it took another to get me to do this chapter. Quick disclaimer that I recognise that I am a white person writing Black and POC characters so if you feel like anything's not quite right or should be changed feel free to drop a comment. In a similar vein this chapter contains a HoH (hard of hearing) character (not fully deaf) so same thing goes there. (Also we will get back to the main ships eventually I promise- although I enjoyed writing chapter 8 a lot.) Hope the world is at least still turning wherever you are, love from the mess that is the UK rn (and generally). Ok bye :D

~Note: Another POV Switch~

Meanwhile in the girls' dorm, Parvati and Padma had called a dorm meeting. Unusually, this consisted of two parts: one, without the 'cause' present - or, at least, conscious - and two, with the aforementioned involved. The cause of the meeting? Their new honorary Griffindor compatriot. Current status: asleep (they had checked). Just for assurances, Hermione had cast a Muffliato.

Due to the circumstances, they were are awake rather earlier than they would usually be on the second morning of term. Overall they were a close group, well balanced, and although they'd had their ups and downs (cough-fifth year-cough) they were rather the closer for it. In fact, it had probably owed a great deal to Frankie, who had transferred from the Italian school Stati Magia at the beginning of that tumultuous year. It had been Frankie who saw through Lavender's actions towards Ron - as the desperate clinging and self-repression of the stellar combination of internalised homophobia and a bad-prank love potion- and Frankie who spent long nights talking Hermione through the jumble of feelings around her demisexuality (who had brought her the word demisexual), and who had gathered them together to help the twins through the loss of their mother (for Parvati was as much a part of the group as any of them, houses be damned), and helped Padma with the resultant religious consternation. Even now, the group held memorial for that day together every year. They'd even developed their friendly-acquaintance relationship with other-dorm-mate Fay, who had not returned this year.

So Frankie was likely right now sorting the issues of the Slytherins in her own bright, steady, quick-witted way. And in her place was Lurlei.

It was not Lurlei _herself_ , per se, that was the problem. It was more the fact that she had spoken exactly two words to the lot of them in the two and a half days they'd known each other: 'thank you' after the brief showcase of Griffindor Tower and their dorm. Her voice was steady, aristocratically articulate and lightly accented, and had said nothing else.

"I thought maybe she was shy, at the very beginning. But I don't see that now." They were seated on Hermione's bed: Lavender and Parvati wrapped in a blanket, Hermione cross-legged with one over her knees and Padma in a robe over her pajamas. They were all in pajamas - bar Parvati who had walked over from Ravenclaw, and were otherwise not dressed. Parvati and Padmas' hair were still in their braids, Lavender's in her french plaits and Hermione's still in the scarf she wore to bed. Parvati continued from her sister, one hand resting on Lavender's knee:

"I thought she might be aloof or just y'know pureblood-disinterested, but I don't think it's that either. She _appears_ to pay attention when we're talking together, but she doesn't react or join in."

"So what we've got," Lavender added - she was usually the best at summarising: describing the situation and their thoughts with clarity certainly being a skill, "is interested/appears attentive but without input; little reaction to group conversation; more (one) response to a singular (one-to-one) conversation; slight accent and I've noticed she had these moments where she looks confused, particularly after a conversation that's long, complex or lots of us have contributed to. Hermione?"

They turned to Hermione, who had one of her many notebooks open, but wasn't really reading her notes from it. "I would agree shyness was a possibility at first, but is now unlikely. She also doesn't strike me as thinking she's above us." Parvati nodded. "So I think our two options are firstly, and less likely, difficulty with English. This is suggested by her accent, and would mean she struggled with long, complex or disjointed conversations, like Lav said, however I don't _think_ she has any extra lessons like Frankie did, and I think McGonagoll would also have considered this, or at least mentioned it. secondly, and I believe the stronger option, is almost similar. The majority of what I've looked up suggested Lurlei could be hard of hearing - potentially deaf, but this would also be something McGonagoll would have raised, and being hard of hearing instead may have been easier to keep lower-profile, especially dependent on her family." The other girls nodded thoughtfully.

"I suppose we'd better go with phase two then." Padma stretched as she got up.

Lurlei was woken rather easily, blinking through dark lashes at Padma after only a few gentle shakes. She pulled a questioning face. Padma opted for a gesture over speech, in light of phase one's ideas. She smiled apologetically, shrugged one half of her robe back onto her shoulder and indicated the gathered girls. Puzzled, Lurlei stood, her wisps of long dark hair sticking out slightly. She sat on the end of the bed cautiously. They'd unspokenly decided Hermione should do the talking.

"Sorry it's a bit early Lurlei." She smiled kindly. "We were just a little worried because you haven't really been talking to us. We were wondering if we had done anything, or if there's anything we could do?"

Lurlei nodded slightly, as if to herself, then drew her eyes up to meet Hermione's gaze. "Anything...?"

"Anything we can do?"

"Thank you. I'm sorry if you thought I was being rude - I think you are all lovely people so far." She paused and smiled graciously, then appeared to falter. "It's just... I. Have some trouble hearing people properly sometimes - especially if there's... a lot of things going on. You see I'm-" She glanced around the group of girls, nervous. "I'm hard of hearing." She paused again, obviously trying to gauge their reactions.

"Would it help if we signed a bit?" Lavender asked. "If you use British Sign Language of course. I know a bit because one of my little cousins is deaf, and I'm sure we could all pick it."

Lurlei's shoulders straightened up again and she gave a small smile. "That would be wonderful if it's not a hassle. We use it a lot in Slytherin - lots of us know some anyway because of the mermaids." Hermione stored _that_ bit of information away for later. "But my parents don't like it."

It was at that moment the alarm charm they had in the room went off. They all leapt off the bed. "That's the first pre-breakfast alarm." Padma explained to Lurlei. She gave a one-armed hug to Parvati. "So we've got about half an hour until breakfast." Lavender kissed Parvati on the cheek before pulling a shirt out of her drawer.

"Meet you in the library?"

"Of course." She smiled at Lurlei. "Start with some basics and avoid my Transfiguration essay maybe. See you later everyone!" She pulled her cardigan closer around herself and threw a peace sign as she walked out.


End file.
